THE SHÁH NÁMEH (continued 2)

He who is blest with Heaven's grace Will never want a dwelling-place And he who bears the curse of Fate Can never change his wretched state. A voice, not earthly, thus addressed The Símúrgh in his mountain nest— "To thee this mortal I resign, Protected by the power divine; Let him thy fostering kindness share, Nourish him with paternal care; For from his loins, in time, will spring The champion of the world, and bring Honour on earth, and to thy name; The heir of everlasting fame."

The young ones were also kind and affectionate to the infant, which was thus nourished and protected by the Símúrgh for several years.

THE DREAM OF SÁM

It is said that one night, after melancholy musings and reflecting on the miseries of this life, Sám was visited by a dream, and when the particulars of it were communicated to the interpreters of mysterious warnings and omens, they declared that Zál was certainly still alive, although he had been long exposed on Alberz, and left there to be torn to pieces by wild animals. Upon this interpretation being given, the natural feelings of the father returned, and he sent his people to the mountain in search of Zál, but without success. On another night Sám dreamt a second time, when he beheld a young man of a beautiful countenance at the head of an immense army, with a banner flying before him, and a Múbid on his left hand. One of them addressed Sám, and reproached him thus:—

Unfeeling mortal, hast thou from thy eyes Washed out all sense of shame? Dost thou believe That to have silvery tresses is a crime? If so, thy head is covered with white hair; And were not both spontaneous gifts from Heaven? Although the boy was hateful to thy sight, The grace of God has been bestowed upon him; And what is human tenderness and love To Heaven's protection? Thou to him wert cruel, But Heaven has blest him, shielding him from harm.

Sám screamed aloud in his sleep, and awoke greatly terrified. Without delay he went himself to Alberz, and ascended the mountain, and wept and prayed before the throne of the Almighty, saying:—

"If that forsaken child be truly mine, And not the progeny of Demon fell, O pity me! forgive the wicked deed, And to my eyes, my injured son restore."

His prayer was accepted. The Símúrgh, hearing the lamentations of Sám among his people, knew that he had come in quest of his son, and thus said to Zál:—"I have fed and protected thee like a kind nurse, and I have given thee the name of Dustán, like a father. Sám, the warrior, has just come upon the mountain in search of his child, and I must restore thee to him, and we must part." Zál wept when he heard of this unexpected separation, and in strong terms expressed his gratitude to his benefactor; for the Wonderful Bird had not omitted to teach him the language of the country, and to cultivate his understanding, removed as they were to such a distance from the haunts of mankind. The Símúrgh soothed him by assuring him that he was not going to abandon him to misfortune, but to increase his prosperity; and, as a striking proof of affection, gave him a feather from his own wing, with these instructions:—"Whenever thou art involved in difficulty or danger, put this feather on the fire, and I will instantly appear to thee to ensure thy safety. Never cease to remember me.

"I have watched thee with fondness by day and by night, And supplied all thy wants with a father's delight; O forget not thy nurse—still be faithful to me— And my heart will be ever devoted to thee."

Zál immediately replied in a strain of gratitude and admiration; and then the Símúrgh conveyed him to Sám, and said to him: "Receive thy son—he is of wonderful promise, and will be worthy of the throne and the diadem."

The soul of Sám rejoiced to hear Applause so sweet to a parent's ear; And blessed them both in thought and word, The lovely boy, and the Wondrous Bird.

He also declared to Zál that he was ashamed of the crime of which he had been guilty, and that he would endeavor to obliterate the recollection of the past by treating him in future with the utmost respect and honor.

When Minúchihr heard from Zábul of these things, and of Sám's return, he was exceedingly pleased, and ordered his son, Nauder, with a splendid istakbál,[5] to meet the father and son on their approach to the city. They were surrounded by warriors and great men, and Sám embraced the first moment to introduce Zál to the king.

Zál humbly kissed the earth before the king, And from the hands of Minúchihr received A golden mace and helm. Then those who knew The stars and planetary signs, were told To calculate the stripling's destiny; And all proclaimed him of exalted fortune, That he would be prodigious in his might, Outshining every warrior of the age.

Delighted with this information, Minúchihr, seated upon his throne, with Kárun on one side and Sám on the other, presented Zál with Arabian horses, and armor, and gold, and splendid garments, and appointed Sám to the government of Kábul, Zábul, and Ind. Zál accompanied his father on his return; and when they arrived at Zábulistán, the most renowned instructors in every art and science were collected together to cultivate and enrich his young mind.

In the meantime Sám was commanded by the king to invade and subdue the Demon provinces of Karugsár and Mázinderán;[6] and Zál was in consequence left by his father in charge of Zábulistán. The young nursling of the Símúrgh is said to have performed the duties of sovereignty with admirable wisdom and discretion, during the absence of his father. He did not pass his time in idle exercises, but with zealous delight in the society of accomplished and learned men, for the purpose of becoming familiar with every species of knowledge and acquirement. The city of Zábul, however, as a constant residence, did not entirely satisfy him, and he wished to see more of the world; he therefore visited several other places, and proceeded as far as Kábul, where he pitched his tents, and remained for some time.

RÚDÁBEH

The chief of Kábul was descended from the family of Zohák. He was named Mihráb, and to secure the safety of his state, paid annual tribute to Sám. Mihráb, on the arrival of Zál, went out of the city to see him, and was hospitably entertained by the young hero, who soon discovered that he had a daughter of wonderful attractions.

Her name Rúdábeh; screened from public view, Her countenance is brilliant as the sun; From head to foot her lovely form is fair As polished ivory. Like the spring, her cheek Presents a radiant bloom,—in stature tall, And o'er her silvery brightness, richly flow Dark musky ringlets clustering to her feet. She blushes like the rich pomegranate flower; Her eyes are soft and sweet as the narcissus, Her lashes from the raven's jetty plume Have stolen their blackness, and her brows are bent Like archer's bow. Ask ye to see the moon? Look at her face. Seek ye for musky fragrance? She is all sweetness. Her long fingers seem Pencils of silver, and so beautiful Her presence, that she breathes of Heaven and love.

Such was the description of Rúdábeh, which inspired the heart of Zál with the most violent affection, and imagination added to her charms.

Mihráb again waited on Zál, who received him graciously, and asked him in what manner he could promote his wishes. Mihráb said that he only desired him to become his guest at a banquet he intended to invite him to; but Zál thought proper to refuse, because he well knew, if he accepted an invitation of the kind from a relation of Zohák, that his father Sám and the King of Persia would be offended. Mihráb returned to Kábul disappointed, and having gone into his harem, his wife, Síndokht, inquired after the stranger from Zábul, the white-headed son of Sám. She wished to know what he was like, in form and feature, and what account he gave of his sojourn with the Símúrgh. Mihráb described him in the warmest terms of admiration—he was valiant, he said, accomplished and handsome, with no other defect than that of white hair. And so boundless was his praise, that Rúdábeh, who was present, drank every word with avidity, and felt her own heart warmed into admiration and love. Full of emotion, she afterwards said privately to her attendants:

"To you alone the secret of my heart I now unfold; to you alone confess The deep sensations of my captive soul. I love, I love; all day and night of him I think alone—I see him in my dreams— You only know my secret—aid me now, And soothe the sorrows of my bursting heart."

The attendants were startled with this confession and entreaty, and ventured to remonstrate against so preposterous an attachment.

"What! hast thou lost all sense of shame, All value for thy honored name! That thou, in loveliness supreme, Of every tongue the constant theme, Should choose, and on another's word. The nursling of a Mountain Bird! A being never seen before, Which human mother never bore! And can the hoary locks of age, A youthful heart like thine engage? Must thy enchanting form be prest To such a dubious monster's breast? And all thy beauty's rich array, Thy peerless charms be thrown away?"

This violent remonstrance was more calculated to rouse the indignation of Rúdábeh than to induce her to change her mind. It did so. But she subdued her resentment, and again dwelt upon the ardor of her passion.

"My attachment is fixed, my election is made, And when hearts are enchained 'tis in vain to upbraid. Neither Kízar nor Faghfúr I wish to behold, Nor the monarch of Persia with jewels and gold; All, all I despise, save the choice of my heart, And from his beloved image I never can part. Call him aged, or young, 'tis a fruitless endeavour To uproot a desire I must cherish for ever; Call him old, call him young, who can passion control? Ever present, and loved, he entrances my soul. 'Tis for him I exist—him I worship alone, And my heart it must bleed till I call him my own."

As soon as the attendants found that Rúdábeh's attachment was deeply fixed, and not to be removed, they changed their purpose, and became obedient to her wishes, anxious to pursue any measure that might bring Zál and their mistress together. Rúdábeh was delighted with this proof of their regard.

It was spring-time, and the attendants repaired towards the halting-place of Zál, in the neighborhood of the city. Their occupation seemed to be gathering roses along the romantic banks of a pellucid streamlet, and when they purposely strayed opposite the tent of Zál, he observed them, and asked his friends—why they presumed to gather roses in his garden. He was told that they were damsels sent by the moon of Kábulistán from the palace of Mihráb to gather roses, and upon hearing this his heart was touched with emotion. He rose up and rambled about for amusement, keeping the direction of the river, followed by a servant with a bow. He was not far from the damsels, when a bird sprung up from the water, which he shot, upon the wing, with an arrow. The bird happened to fall near the rose-gatherers, and Zál ordered his servant to bring it to him. The attendants of Rúdábeh lost not the opportunity, as he approached them, to inquire who the archer was. "Know ye not," answered the servant, "that this is Ním-rúz, the son of Sám, and also called Dustán, the greatest warrior ever known." At this the damsels smiled, and said that they too belonged to a person of distinction—and not of inferior worth—to a star in the palace of Mihráb. "We have come from Kábul to the King of Zábulistán, and should Zál and Rúdábeh be of equal rank, her ruby lips may become acquainted with his, and their wished-for union be effected." When the servant returned, Zál was immediately informed of the conversation that had taken place, and in consequence presents were prepared.

They who to gather roses came—went back With precious gems—and honorary robes; And two bright finger-rings were secretly Sent to the princess.

Then did the attendants of Rúdábeh exult in the success of their artifice, and say that the lion had come into their toils. Rúdábeh herself, however, had some fears on the subject. She anxiously sought to know exactly the personal appearance of Zál, and happily her warmest hopes were realized by the description she received. But one difficulty remained—how were they to meet? How was she to see with her own eyes the man whom her fancy had depicted in such glowing colors? Her attendants, sufficiently expert at intrigue, soon contrived the means of gratifying her wishes. There was a beautiful rural retreat in a sequestered situation, the apartments of which were adorned with pictures of great men, and ornamented in the most splendid manner. To this favorite place Rúdábeh retired, and most magnificently dressed, awaiting the coming of Zál, whom her attendants had previously invited to repair thither as soon as the sun had gone down. The shadows of evening were falling as he approached, and the enamoured princess thus addressed him from her balcony:—

"May happiness attend thee ever, thou, Whose lucid features make this gloomy night Clear as the day; whose perfume scents the breeze; Thou who, regardless of fatigue, hast come On foot too, thus to see me—"

Hearing a sweet voice, he looked up, and beheld a bright face in the balcony, and he said to the beautiful vision:—

"How often have I hoped that Heaven Would, in some secret place display Thy charms to me, and thou hast given My heart the wish of many a day; For now thy gentle voice I hear, And now I see thee—speak again! Speak freely in a willing ear, And every wish thou hast obtain."

Not a word was lost upon Rúdábeh, and she soon accomplished her object. Her hair was so luxuriant, and of such a length, that casting it loose it flowed down from the balcony; and, after fastening the upper part to a ring, she requested Zál to take hold of the other end and mount up. He ardently kissed the musky tresses, and by them quickly ascended.

Then hand in hand within the chambers they Gracefully passed.—Attractive was the scene, The walls embellished by the painter's skill, And every object exquisitely formed, Sculpture, and architectural ornament, Fit for a king. Zál with amazement gazed Upon what art had done, but more he gazed Upon the witching radiance of his love, Upon her tulip cheeks, her musky locks, Breathing the sweetness of a summer garden; Upon the sparkling brightness of her rings, Necklace, and bracelets, glittering on her arms. His mien too was majestic—on his head He wore a ruby crown, and near his breast Was seen a belted dagger. Fondly she With side-long glances marked his noble aspect, The fine proportions of his graceful limbs, His strength and beauty. Her enamoured heart Suffused her cheek with blushes, every glance Increased the ardent transports of her soul. So mild was his demeanour, he appeared A gentle lion toying with his prey. Long they remained rapt in admiration Of each other. At length the warrior rose, And thus addressed her: "It becomes not us To be forgetful of the path of prudence, Though love would dictate a more ardent course, How oft has Sám, my father, counselled me, Against unseeming thoughts,—unseemly deeds,— Always to choose the right, and shun the wrong. How will he burn with anger when he hears This new adventure; how will Minúchihr Indignantly reproach me for this dream! This waking dream of rapture! but I call High Heaven to witness what I now declare— Whoever may oppose my sacred vows, I still am thine, affianced thine, for ever."

And thus Rúdábeh: "Thou hast won my heart, And kings may sue in vain; to thee devoted, Thou art alone my warrior and my love." Thus they exclaimed,—then Zál with fond adieus Softly descended from the balcony, And hastened to his tent.

As speedily as possible he assembled together his counsellors and Múbids to obtain their advice on the present extraordinary occasion, and he represented to them the sacred importance of encouraging matrimonial alliances.

For marriage is a contract sealed by Heaven— How happy is the Warrior's lot, amidst His smiling children; when he dies, his son Succeeds him, and enjoys his rank and name. And is it not a glorious thing to say— This is the son of Zál, or this of Sám, The heir of his renowned progenitor?

He then related to them the story of his love and affection for the daughter of Mihráb; but the Múbids, well knowing that the chief of Kábul was of the family of Zohák, the serpent-king, did not approve the union desired, which excited the indignation of Zál. They, however, recommended his writing a letter to Sám, who might, if he thought proper, refer the matter to Minúchihr. The letter was accordingly written and despatched, and when Sám received it, he immediately referred the question to his astrologers, to know whether the nuptials, if solemnized between Zál and Rúdábeh, would be prosperous or not. They foretold that the nuptials would be prosperous, and that the issue would be a son of wonderful strength and power, the conqueror of the world. This announcement delighted the heart of the old warrior, and he sent the messenger back with the assurance of his approbation of the proposed union, but requested that the subject might be kept concealed till he returned with his army from the expedition to Karugsár, and was able to consult with Minúchihr.

Zál, exulting at his success, communicated the glad tidings to Rúdábeh by their female emissary, who had hitherto carried on successfully the correspondence between them. But as she was conveying an answer to this welcome news, and some presents to Zál, Síndokht, the mother of Rúdábeh, detected her, and, examining the contents of the packet, she found sufficient evidence, she thought, of something wrong.

"What treachery is this? What have we here! Sirbund and male attire? Thou, wretch, confess! Disclose thy secret doings."

The emissary, however, betrayed nothing; but declared that she was a dealer in jewels and dresses, and had been only showing her merchandise to Rúdábeh. Síndokht, in extreme agitation of mind, hastened to her daughter's apartment to ascertain the particulars of this affair, when Rúdábeh at once fearlessly acknowledged her unalterable affection for Zál,

"I love him so devotedly, all day, All night my tears have flowed unceasingly; And one hair of his head I prize more dearly Than all the world beside; for him I live; And we have met, and we have sat together, And pledged our mutual love with mutual joy And innocence of heart."

Rúdábeh further informed her of Sám's consent to their nuptials, which in some degree satisfied the mother. But when Mihráb was made acquainted with the arrangement, his rage was unbounded, for he dreaded the resentment of Sám and Minúchihr when the circumstances became fully known to them. Trembling with indignation he drew his dagger, and would have instantly rushed to Rúdábeh's chamber to destroy her, had not Síndokht fallen at his feet and restrained him. He insisted, however, on her being brought before him; and upon his promise not to do her any harm, Síndokht complied. Rúdábeh disdained to take off her ornaments to appear as an offender and a supplicant, but, proud of her choice, went into her father's presence, gayly adorned with jewels, and in splendid apparel. Mihráb received her with surprise.

"Why all this glittering finery? Is the devil United to an angel? When a snake Is met with in Arabia, it is killed!"

But Rúdábeh answered not a word, and was permitted to retire with her mother.

When Minúchihr was apprised of the proceedings between Zál and Rúdábeh, he was deeply concerned, anticipating nothing but confusion and ruin to Persia from the united influence of Zál and Mihráb. Feridún had purified the world from the abominations of Zohák, and as Mihráb was a descendant of that merciless tyrant, he feared that some attempt would be made to resume the enormities of former times; Sám was therefore required to give his advice on the occasion.

The conqueror of Karugsár and Mázinderán was received on his return with cordial rejoicings, and he charmed the king with the story of his triumphant success. The monarch against whom he had fought was descended, on the mother's side, from Zohák, and his Demon army was more numerous than ants, or clouds of locusts, covering mountain and plain. Sám thus proceeded in his description of the conflict.

"And when he heard my voice, and saw what deeds I had performed, approaching me, he threw His noose; but downward bending I escaped, And with my bow I showered upon his head Steel-pointed arrows, piercing through the brain; Then did I grasp his loins, and from his horse Cast him upon the ground, deprived of life. At this, the demons terrified and pale, Shrunk back, some flying to the mountain wilds, And others, taken on the battle-field, Became obedient to the Persian king."

Minúchihr, gratified by this result of the expedition, appointed Sám to a new enterprise, which was to destroy Kábul by fire and sword, especially the house of Mihráb; and that ruler, of the serpent-race, and all his adherents were to be put to death. Sám, before he took leave to return to his own government at Zábul, tried to dissuade him from this violent exercise of revenge, but without making any sensible impression upon him.

Meanwhile the vindictive intentions of Minúchihr, which were soon known at Kábul, produced the greatest alarm and consternation in the family of Mihráb. Zál now returned to his father, and Sám sent a letter to Minúchihr, again to deprecate his wrath, and appointed Zál the messenger. In this letter Sám enumerates his services at Karugsár and Mázinderán, and especially dwells upon the destruction of a prodigious dragon.

"I am thy servant, and twice sixty years Have seen my prowess. Mounted on my steed, Wielding my battle-axe, overthrowing heroes, Who equals Sám, the warrior? I destroyed The mighty monster, whose devouring jaws Unpeopled half the land, and spread dismay From town to town. The world was full of horror, No bird was seen in air, no beast of prey In plain or forest; from the stream he drew The crocodile; the eagle from the sky. The country had no habitant alive, And when I found no human being left, I cast away all fear, and girt my loins, And in the name of God went boldly forth, Armed for the strife. I saw him towering rise, Huge as a mountain, with his hideous hair Dragging upon the ground; his long black tongue Shut up the path; his eyes two lakes of blood; And, seeing me, so horrible his roar, The earth shook with affright, and from his mouth A flood of poison issued. Like a lion Forward I sprang, and in a moment drove A diamond-pointed arrow through his tongue, Fixing him to the ground. Another went Down his deep throat, and dreadfully he writhed. A third passed through his middle. Then I raised My battle-axe, cow-headed, and with one Tremendous blow, dislodged his venomous brain, And deluged all around with blood and poison. There lay the monster dead, and soon the world Regained its peace and comfort. Now I'm old, The vigour of my youth is past and gone, And it becomes me to resign my station, To Zál, my gallant son."

Mihráb continued in such extreme agitation, that in his own mind he saw no means of avoiding the threatened desolation of his country but by putting his wife and daughter to death. Síndokht however had a better resource, and suggested the expediency of waiting upon Sám herself, to induce him to forward her own views and the nuptials between Zál and Rúdábeh. To this Mihráb assented, and she proceeded, mounted on a richly caparisoned horse, to Zábul with most magnificent presents, consisting of three hundred thousand dínars; ten horses with golden, and thirty with silver, housings; sixty richly attired damsels, carrying golden trays of jewels and musk, and camphor, and wine, and sugar; forty pieces of figured cloth; a hundred milch camels, and a hundred others for burden; two hundred Indian swords, a golden crown and throne, and four elephants. Sám was amazed and embarrassed by the arrival of this splendid array. If he accepted the presents, he would incur the anger of Minúchihr; and if he rejected them, Zál would be disappointed and driven to despair. He at length accepted them, and concurred in the wishes of Síndokht respecting the union of the two lovers.

When Zál arrived at the court of Minúchihr, he was received with honor, and the letter of Sám being read, the king was prevailed upon to consent to the pacific proposals that were made in favor of Mihráb, and the nuptials. He too consulted his astrologers, and was informed that the offspring of Zál and Rúdábeh would be a hero of matchless strength and valor. Zál, on his return through Kábul, had an interview with Rúdábeh, who welcomed him in the most rapturous terms:—

Be thou for ever blest, for I adore thee, And make the dust of thy fair feet my pillow.

In short, with the approbation of all parties the marriage at length took place, and was celebrated at the beautiful summer-house where first the lovers met. Sám was present at Kábul on the happy occasion, and soon afterwards returned to Sístán, preparatory to resuming his martial labors in Karugsár and Mázinderán.

As the time drew near that Rúdábeh should become a mother, she suffered extremely from constant indisposition, and both Zál and Síndokht were in the deepest distress on account of her precarious state.

The cypress leaf was withering; pale she lay, Unsoothed by rest or sleep, death seemed approaching.

At last Zál recollected the feather of the Símúrgh, and followed the instructions which he had received, by placing it on the fire. In a moment darkness surrounded them, which was, however, immediately dispersed by the sudden appearance of the Símúrgh. "Why," said the Símúrgh, "do I see all this grief and sorrow? Why are the tear-drops in the warrior's eyes? A child will be born of mighty power, who will become the wonder of the world."

The Símúrgh then gave some advice which was implicitly attended to, and the result was that Rúdábeh was soon out of danger. Never was beheld so prodigious a child. The father and mother were equally amazed. They called the boy Rustem. On the first day he looked a year old, and he required the milk of ten nurses. A likeness of him was immediately worked in silk, representing him upon a horse, and armed like a warrior, which was sent to Sám, who was then fighting in Mázinderán, and it made the old champion almost delirious with joy. At Kábul and Zábul there was nothing but feasting and rejoicing, as soon as the tidings were known, and thousands of dínars were given away in charity to the poor. When Rustem was five years of age, he ate as much as a man, and some say that even in his third year he rode on horseback. In his eighth year he was as powerful as any hero of the time.

In beauty of form and in vigour of limb, No mortal was ever seen equal to him.

Both Sám and Mihráb, though far distant from the scene of felicity, were equally anxious to proceed to Zábulistán to behold their wonderful grandson. Both set off, but Mihráb arrived first with great pomp, and a whole army for his suite, and went forth with Zál to meet Sám, and give him an honorable welcome. The boy Rustem was mounted on an elephant, wearing a splendid crown, and wanted to join them, but his father kindly prevented him undergoing the inconvenience of alighting. Zál and Mihráb dismounted as soon as Sám was seen at a distance, and performed the ceremonies of an affectionate reception. Sám was indeed amazed when he did see the boy, and showered blessings on his head.

Afterwards Sám placed Mihráb on his right hand, and Zál on his left, and Rustem before him, and began to converse with his grandson, who thus manifested to him his martial disposition.

"Thou art the champion of the world, and I The branch of that fair tree of which thou art The glorious root: to thee I am devoted, But ease and leisure have no charms for me; Nor music, nor the songs of festive joy. Mounted and armed, a helmet on my brow, A javelin in my grasp, I long to meet The foe, and cast his severed head before thee."

Then Sám made a royal feast, and every apartment in his palace was richly decorated, and resounded with mirth and rejoicing. Mihráb was the merriest, and drank the most, and in his cups saw nothing but himself, so vain had he become from the countenance he had received. He kept saying:—

"Now I feel no alarm about Sám or Zál-zer, Nor the splendour and power of the great Minúchihr; Whilst aided by Rustem, his sword, and his mace, Not a cloud of misfortune can shadow my face. All the laws of Zohák I will quickly restore, And the world shall be fragrant and blest as before."

This exultation plainly betrayed the disposition of his race; and though Sám smiled at the extravagance of Mihráb, he looked up towards Heaven, and prayed that Rustem might not prove a tyrant, but be continually active in doing good, and humble before God.

Upon Sám departing, on his return to Karugsár and Mázinderán, Zál went with Rustem to Sístán, a province dependent on his government, and settled him there. The white elephant, belonging to Minúchihr, was kept at Sístán. One night Rustem was awakened out of his sleep by a great noise, and cries of distress when starting up and inquiring the cause, he was told that the white elephant had got loose, and was trampling and crushing the people to death. In a moment he issued from his apartment, brandishing his mace; but was soon stopped by the servants, who were anxious to expostulate with him against venturing out in the darkness of night to encounter a ferocious elephant. Impatient at being thus interrupted he knocked down one of the watchmen, who fell dead at his feet, and the others running away, he broke the lock of the gate, and escaped. He immediately opposed himself to the enormous animal, which looked like a mountain, and kept roaring like the River Nil. Regarding him with a cautious and steady eye, he gave a loud shout, and fearlessly struck him a blow, with such strength and vigor, that the iron mace was bent almost double. The elephant trembled, and soon fell exhausted and lifeless in the dust. When it was communicated to Zál that Rustem had killed the animal with one blow, he was amazed, and fervently returned thanks to heaven. He called him to him, and kissed him, and said: "My darling boy, thou art indeed unequalled in valor and magnanimity."

Then it occurred to Zál that Rustem, after such an achievement, would be a proper person to take vengeance on the enemies of his grandfather Narímán, who was sent by Feridún with a large army against an enchanted fort situated upon the mountain Sipund, and who whilst endeavoring to effect his object, was killed by a piece of rock thrown down from above by the besieged. The fort[7], which was many miles high, inclosed beautiful lawns of the freshest verdure, and delightful gardens abounding with fruit and flowers; it was also full of treasure. Sám, on hearing of the fate of his father, was deeply afflicted, and in a short time proceeded against the fort himself; but he was surrounded by a trackless desert. He knew not what course to pursue; not a being was ever seen to enter or come out of the gates, and, after spending months and years in fruitless endeavors, he was compelled to retire from the appalling enterprise in despair. "Now," said Zál to Rustem, "the time is come, and the remedy is at hand; thou art yet unknown, and may easily accomplish our purpose." Rustem agreed to the proposed adventure, and according to his father's advice, assumed the dress and character of a salt-merchant, prepared a caravan of camels, and secreted arms for himself and companions among the loads of salt. Everything being ready they set off, and it was not long before they reached the fort on the mountain Sipund. Salt being a precious article, and much wanted, as soon as the garrison knew that it was for sale, the gates were opened; and then was Rustem seen, together with his warriors, surrounded by men, women, and children, anxiously making their purchases, some giving clothes in exchange, some gold, and some silver, without fear or suspicion.

But when the night came on, and it was dark, Rustem impatient drew his warriors forth, And moved towards the mansion of the chief— But not unheard. The unaccustomed noise, Announcing warlike menace and attack, Awoke the Kotwál, who sprung up to meet The peril threatened by the invading foe. Rustem meanwhile uplifts his ponderous mace, And cleaves his head, and scatters on the ground The reeking brains. And now the garrison Are on the alert, all hastening to the spot Where battle rages; midst the deepened gloom Flash sparkling swords, which show the crimson earth Bright as the ruby.

Rustem continued fighting with the people of the fort all night, and just as morning dawned, he discovered the chief and slew him. Those who survived, then escaped, and not one of the inhabitants remained within the walls alive. Rustem's next object was to enter the governor's mansion. It was built of stone, and the gate, which was made of iron, he burst open with his battle-axe, and advancing onward, he discovered a temple, constructed with infinite skill and science, beyond the power of mortal man, and which contained amazing wealth, in jewels and gold. All the warriors gathered for themselves as much treasure as they could carry away, and more than imagination can conceive; and Rustem wrote to Zál to know his further commands on the subject of the capture. Zál, overjoyed at the result of the enterprise, replied:

Thou hast illumed the soul of Narímán, Now in the blissful bowers of Paradise, By punishing his foes with fire and sword.

He then recommended him to load all the camels with as much of the invaluable property as could be removed, and bring it away, and then burn and destroy the whole place, leaving not a single vestige; and the command having been strictly complied with, Rustem retraced his steps to Zábulistán.

On his return Zál pressed him to his heart, And paid him public honors. The fond mother Kissed and embraced her darling son, and all Uniting, showered their blessings on his head.

DEATH OF MINÚCHIHR

To Minúchihr we now must turn again, And mark the close of his illustrious reign.

The king had flourished one hundred and twenty years, when now the astrologers ascertained that the period of his departure from this life was at hand.

They told him of that day of bitterness, Which would obscure the splendour of his throne; And said—"The time approaches, thou must go, Doubtless to Heaven. Think what thou hast to do; And be it done before the damp cold earth Inshrine thy body. Let not sudden death O'ertake thee, ere thou art prepared to die!" Warned by the wise, he called his courtiers round him, And thus he counselled Nauder:—"O, my son! Fix not thy heart upon a regal crown, For this vain world is fleeting as the wind; The pain and sorrows of twice sixty years Have I endured, though happiness and joy Have also been my portion. I have fought In many a battle, vanquished many a foe; By Feridún's commands I girt my loins, And his advice has ever been my guide. I hurled just vengeance on the tyrant-brothers Sílim and Túr, who slew the gentle Irij; And cities have I built, and made the tree Which yielded poison, teem with wholesome fruit. And now to thee the kingdom I resign, That kingdom which belonged to Feridún, And thou wilt be the sovereign of the world! But turn not from the worship of thy God, That sacred worship Moses taught, the best Of all the prophets; turn not from the path Of purest holiness, thy father's choice.

"My son, events of peril are before thee; Thy enemy will come in fierce array, From the wild mountains of Túrán, the son Of Poshang, the invader. In that hour Of danger, seek the aid of Sám and Zál, And that young branch just blossoming; Túrán Will then have no safe buckler of defence, None to protect it from their conquering arms."

Thus spoke the sire prophetic to his son, And both were moved to tears. Again the king Resumed his warning voice: "Nauder, I charge thee Place not thy trust upon a world like this, Where nothing fixed remains. The caravan Goes to another city, one to-day, The next, to-morrow, each observes its turn And time appointed—mine has come at last, And I must travel on the destined road."

At the period Minúchihr uttered this exhortation, he was entirely free from indisposition, but he shortly afterwards closed his eyes in death.

NAUDER

Upon the demise of Minúchihr, Nauder ascended the throne, and commenced his reign in the most promising manner; but before two months had passed, he neglected the counsels of his father, and betrayed the despotic character of his heart. To such an extreme did he carry his oppression, that to escape from his violence, the people were induced to solicit other princes to come and take possession of the empire. The courtiers labored under the greatest embarrassment, their monarch being solely occupied in extorting money from his subjects, and amassing wealth for his own coffers. Nauder was not long in perceiving the dissatisfaction that universally prevailed, and, anticipating, not only an immediate revolt, but an invading army, solicited, according to his father's advice, the assistance of Sám, then at Mázinderán. The complaints of the people, however, reached Sám before the arrival of the messenger, and when he received the letter, he was greatly distressed on account of the extreme severity exercised by the new king. The champion, in consequence, proceeded forthwith from Mázinderán to Persia, and when he entered the capital, he was joyously welcomed, and at once entreated by the people to take the sovereignty upon himself. It was said of Nauder:

The gloom of tyranny has hid The light his father's counsel gave; The hope of life is lost amid The desolation of the grave. The world is withering in his thrall, Exhausted by his iron sway; Do thou ascend the throne, and all Will cheerfully thy will obey.

But Sám said, "No; I should then be ungrateful to Minúchihr, a traitor, and deservedly offensive in the eyes of God. Nauder is the king, and I am bound to do him service, although he has deplorably departed from the advice of his father." He then soothed the alarm and irritation of the chiefs, and engaging to be a mediator upon the unhappy occasion, brought them to a more pacific tone of thinking. After this he immediately repaired to Nauder, who received him with great favor and kindness. "O king," said he, "only keep Feridún in remembrance, and govern the empire in such a manner that thy name may be honored by thy subjects; for, be well assured, that he who has a just estimate of the world, will never look upon it as his place of rest. It is but an inn, where all travellers meet on their way to eternity, but must not remain. The wise consider those who fix their affections on this life, as utterly devoid of reason and reflection:

"Pleasure, and pomp, and wealth may be obtained— And every want luxuriously supplied: But suddenly, without a moment's warning, Death comes, and hurls the monarch from his throne, His crown and sceptre scattering in the dust. He who is satisfied with earthly joys, Can never know the blessedness of Heaven; His soul must still be dark. Why do the good Suffer in this world, but to be prepared For future rest and happiness? The name Of Feridún is honoured among men, Whilst curses load the memory of Zohák."

This intercession of Sám produced an entire change in the government of Nauder, who promised, in future, to rule his people according to the principles of Húsheng, and Feridún, and Minúchihr. The chiefs and captains of the army were, in consequence, contented, and the kingdom reunited itself under his sway.

In the meantime, however, the news of the death of Minúchihr, together with Nauder's injustice and seventy, and the disaffection of his people, had reached Túrán, of which country Poshang, a descendant from Túr, was then the sovereign. Poshang, who had been unable to make a single successful hostile movement during the life of Minúchihr, at once conceived this to be a fit opportunity of taking revenge for the blood of Sílim and Túr, and every appearance seeming to be in his favor, he called before him his heroic son Afrásiyáb, and explained to him his purpose and views. It was not difficult to inspire the youthful mind of Afrásiyáb with the sentiments he himself cherished, and a large army was immediately collected to take the field against Nauder. Poshang was proud of the chivalrous spirit and promptitude displayed by his son, who is said to have been as strong as a lion, or an elephant, and whose shadow extended miles. His tongue was like a bright sword, and his heart as bounteous as the ocean, and his hands like the clouds when rain falls to gladden the thirsty earth. Aghríras, the brother of Afrásiyáb, however, was not so precipitate. He cautioned his father to be prudent, for though Persia could no longer boast of the presence of Minúchihr, still the great warrior Sám, and Kárun, and Garshásp, were living, and Poshang had only to look at the result of the wars in which Sílim and Túr were involved, to be convinced that the existing conjuncture required mature deliberation. "It would be better," said he, "not to begin the contest at all, than to bring ruin and desolation on our own country." Poshang, on the contrary, thought the time peculiarly fit and inviting, and contended that, as Minúchihr took vengeance for the blood of his grandfather, so ought Afrásiyáb to take vengeance for his. "The grandson," he said, "who refuses to do this act of justice, is unworthy of his family. There is nothing to apprehend from the efforts of Nauder, who is an inexperienced youth, nor from the valor of his warriors. Afrásiyáb is brave and powerful in war, and thou must accompany him and share the glory." After this no further observation was offered, and the martial preparations were completed.

AFRÁSIYÁB MARCHES AGAINST NAUDER

The brazen drums on the elephants were sounded as the signal of departure, and the army proceeded rapidly to its destination, overshadowing the earth in its progress. Afrásiyáb had penetrated as far as the Jihún before Nauder was aware of his approach. Upon receiving this intelligence of the activity of the enemy, the warriors of the Persian army immediately moved in that direction, and on their arrival at Dehstán, prepared for battle.

Afrásiyáb despatched thirty thousand of his troops under the command of Shimasás and Khazerván to Zábulistán, to act against Zál, having heard on his march of the death of the illustrious Sám, and advanced himself upon Dehstán with four hundred thousand soldiers, covering the ground like swarms of ants and locusts. He soon discovered that Nauder's forces did not exceed one hundred and forty thousand men, and wrote to Poshang, his father, in high spirits, especially on account of not having to contend against Sám, the warrior, and informed him that he had detached Shimasás against Zábulistán. When the armies had approached to within two leagues of each other, Bármán, one of the Túránian chiefs, offered to challenge any one of the enemy to single combat: but Aghríras objected to it, not wishing that so valuable a hero should run the hazard of discomfiture. At this Afrásiyáb was very indignant and directed Bármán to follow the bent of his own inclinations.

"'Tis not for us to shrink from Persian foe, Put on thy armour, and prepare thy bow."

Accordingly the challenge was given. Kárun looked round, and the only person who answered the call was the aged Kobád, his brother. Kárun and Kobád were both sons of Kavah, the blacksmith, and both leaders in the Persian army. No persuasion could restrain Kobád from the unequal conflict. He resisted all the entreaties of Kárun, who said to him—

"O, should thy hoary locks be stained with blood, Thy legions will be overwhelmed with grief, And, in despair, decline the coming battle." But what was the reply of brave Kobád? "Brother, this body, this frail tenement, Belongs to death. No living man has ever Gone up to Heaven—for all are doomed to die.— Some by the sword, the dagger, or the spear, And some, devoured by roaring beasts of prey; Some peacefully upon their beds, and others Snatched suddenly from life, endure the lot Ordained by the Creator. If I perish, Does not my brother live, my noble brother, To bury me beneath a warrior's tomb, And bless my memory?"

Saying this, he rushed forward, and the two warriors met in desperate conflict. The struggle lasted all day; at last Bármán threw a stone at his antagonist with such force, that Kobád in receiving the blow fell lifeless from his horse. When Kárun saw that his brother was slain, he brought forward his whole army to be revenged for the death of Kobád. Afrásiyáb himself advanced to the charge, and the encounter was dreadful. The soldiers who fell among the Túránians could not be numbered, but the Persians lost fifty thousand men.

Loud neighed the steeds, and their resounding hoofs. Shook the deep caverns of the earth; the dust Rose up in clouds and hid the azure heavens— Bright beamed the swords, and in that carnage wide, Blood flowed like water. Night alone divided The hostile armies.

When the battle ceased Kárun fell back upon Dehstán, and communicated his misfortune to Nauder, who lamented the loss of Kobád, even more than that of Sám. In the morning Kárun again took the field against Afrásiyáb, and the conflict was again terrible. Nauder boldly opposed himself to the enemy, and singling out Afrásiyáb, the two heroes fought with great bravery till night again put an end to the engagement. The Persian army had suffered most, and Nauder retired to his tent disappointed, fatigued, and sorrowful. He then called to mind the words of Minúchihr, and called for his two sons, Tús and Gustahem. With melancholy forebodings he directed them to return to Irán, with his shubistán, or domestic establishment, and take refuge on the mountain Alberz, in the hope that some one of the race of Feridún might survive the general ruin which seemed to be approaching.

The armies rested two days. On the third the reverberating noise of drums and trumpets announced the recommencement of the battle. On the Persian side Shahpúr had been appointed in the room of Kobád, and Bármán and Shíwáz led the right and left of the Túránians under Afrásiyáb.

From dawn to sunset, mountain, plain, and stream, Were hid from view; the earth, beneath the tread Of myriads, groaned; and when the javelins cast Long shadows on the plain at even-tide, The Tartar host had won the victory; And many a Persian chief fell on that day:— Shahpúr himself was slain.

When Nauder and Kárun saw the unfortunate result of the battle, they again fell back upon Dehstán, and secured themselves in the fort. Afrásiyáb in the meantime despatched Karúkhán to Irán, through the desert, with a body of horsemen, for the purpose of intercepting and capturing the shubistán of Nauder. As soon as Kárun heard of this expedition he was all on fire, and proposed to pursue the squadron under Karúkhán, and frustrate at once the object which the enemy had in view; and though Nauder was unfavorable to this movement, Kárun, supported by several of the chiefs and a strong volunteer force, set off at midnight, without permission, on this important enterprise. It was not long before they reached the Duz-i-Supêd, or white fort, of which Gustahem was the governor, and falling in with Bármán, who was also pushing forward to Persia, Kárun, in revenge for his brother Kobád, sought him out, and dared him to single combat. He threw his javelin with such might, that his antagonist was driven furiously from his horse; and then, dismounting, he cut off his head, and hung it at his saddle-bow. After this he attacked and defeated the Tartar troops, and continued his march towards Irán.

Nauder having found that Kárun had departed, immediately followed, and Afrásiyáb was not long in pursuing him. The Túránians at length came up with Nauder, and attacked him with great vigor. The unfortunate king, unable to parry the onset, fell into the hands of his enemies, together with upwards of one thousand of his famous warriors.

Long fought they, Nauder and the Tartar-chief, And the thick dust which rose from either host, Darkened the rolling Heavens. Afrásiyáb Seized by the girdle-belt the Persian king, And furious, dragged him from his foaming horse. With him a thousand warriors, high in name, Were taken on the field; and every legion, Captured whilst flying from the victor's brand.

Such are the freaks of Fortune: friend and foe Alternate wear the crown. The world itself Is an ingenious juggler—every moment Playing some novel trick; exalting one In pomp and splendour, crushing down another, As if in sport,—and death the end of all!

After the achievement of this victory Afrásiyáb directed that Kárun should be pursued and attacked wherever he might be found; but when he heard that he had hurried on for the protection of the shubistán, and had conquered and slain Bármán, he gnawed his hands with rage. The reign of Nauder lasted only seven years. After him Afrásiyáb was the master of Persia.

AFRÁSIYÁB

It has already been said that Shimasás and Khazerván were sent by Afrásiyáb with thirty thousand men against Kábul and Zábul, and when Zál heard of this movement he forthwith united with Mihráb the chief of Kábul, and having first collected a large army in Sístán, had a conflict with the two Tartar generals.

Zál promptly donned himself in war attire, And, mounted like a hero, to the field Hastened, his soldiers frowning on their steeds. Now Khazerván grasps his huge battle-axe, And, his broad shield extending, at one blow Shivers the mail of Zál, who calls aloud As, like a lion, to the fight he springs, Armed with his father's mace. Sternly he looks And with the fury of a dragon, drives The weapon through his adversary's head, Staining the ground with streaks of blood, resembling The waving stripes upon a tiger's back.

At this time Rustem was confined at home with the smallpox. Upon the death of Khazerván, Shimasás thirsted to be revenged; but when Zál meeting him raised his mace, and began to close, the chief became alarmed and turned back, and all his squadrons followed his example.

Fled Shimasás, and all his fighting train, Like herds by tempests scattered o'er the plain.

Zál set off in pursuit, and slew a great number of the enemy; but when Afrásiyáb was made acquainted with this defeat, he immediately released Nauder from his fetters, and in his rage instantly deprived him of life.

He struck him and so deadly was the blow, Breath left the body in a moment's space.

After this Afrásiyáb turned his views towards Tús and Gustahem in the hope of getting them into his hands; but as soon as they received intimation of his object, the two brothers retired from Irán, and went to Sístán to live under the protection of Zál. The champion received them with due respect and honor. Kárun also went, with all the warriors and people who had been supported by Nauder, and co-operated with Zál, who encouraged them with the hopes of future success. Zál, however, considered that both Tús and Gustahem were still of a tender age—that a monarch of extraordinary wisdom and energy was required to oppose Afrásiyáb—that he himself was not of the blood of the Kais, nor fit for the duties of sovereignty, and, therefore, he turned his thoughts towards Aghríras, the younger brother of Afrásiyáb, distinguished as he was for his valor, prudence, and humanity, and to whom Poshang, his father, had given the government of Raí. To him Zál sent an envoy, saying, that if he would proceed to Sístán, he should be supplied with ample resources to place him on the throne of Persia; that by the co-operation of Zál and all his warriors the conquest would be easy, and that there would be no difficulty in destroying the power of Afrásiyáb. Aghríras accepted the offer, and immediately proceeded from his kingdom of Raí towards Sístán. On his arrival at Bábel, Afrásiyáb heard of his ambitious plans, and lost no time in assembling his army and marching to arrest the progress of his brother. Aghríras, unable to sustain a battle, had recourse to negotiation and a conference, in which Afrásiyáb said to him, "What rebellious conduct is this, of which thou art guilty? Is not the country of Raí sufficient for thee, that thou art thus aspiring to be a great king?" Aghríras replied: "Why reproach and insult me thus? Art thou not ashamed to accuse another of rebellious conduct?

"Shame might have held thy tongue; reprove not me In bitterness; God did not give thee power To injure man, and surely not thy kin." Afrásiyáb, enraged at this reproof, Replied by a foul deed—he grasped his sword, And with remorseless fury slew his brother!

When intelligence of this cruel catastrophe came to Zál's ears, he exclaimed: "Now indeed has the empire of Afrásiyáb arrived at its crisis:

"Yes, yes, the tyrant's throne is tottering now, And past is all his glory."

Then Zál bound his loins in hostility against Afrásiyáb, and gathering together all his warriors, resolved upon taking revenge for the death of Nauder, and expelling the tyrant from Persia. Neither Tús nor Gustahem being yet capable of sustaining the cares and duties of the throne, his anxiety was to obtain the assistance of some one of the race of Feridún.

These youths were for imperial rule unfit: A king of royal lineage and worth The state required, and none could he remember Save Tahmasp's son, descended from the blood Of Feridún.

ZAU

At the time when Sílim and Túr were killed, Tahmasp, the son of Sílim, fled from the country and took refuge in an island, where he died, and left a son named Zau. Zál sent Kárun, the son of Kavah, attended by a proper escort, with overtures to Zau, who readily complied, and was under favorable circumstances seated upon the throne:

Speedily, in arms, He led his troops to Persia, fought, and won A kingdom, by his power and bravery— And happy was the day when princely Zau Was placed upon that throne of sovereignty; All breathed their prayers upon his future reign, And o'er his head (the customary rite) Shower'd gold and jewels.

When he had subdued the country, he turned his arms against Afrásiyáb, who in consequence of losing the co-operation of the Persians, and not being in a state to encounter a superior force, thought it prudent to retreat, and return to his father. The reign of Zau lasted five years, after which he died, and was succeeded by his son Garshásp.

GARSHÁSP

Garshásp, whilst in his minority, being unacquainted with the affairs of government, abided in all things by the judgment and counsels of Zál. When Afrásiyáb arrived at Túrán, his father was in great distress and anger on account of the inhuman murder of Aghríras; and so exceedingly did he grieve, that he would not endure his presence.

And when Afrásiyáb returned, his sire, Poshang, in grief, refused to see his face. To him the day of happiness and joy Had been obscured by the dark clouds of night; And thus he said: "Why didst thou, why didst thou In power supreme, without pretence of guilt, With thy own hand his precious life destroy? Why hast thou shed thy innocent brother's blood? In this life thou art nothing now to me; Away, I must not see thy face again."

Afrásiyáb continued offensive and despicable in the mind of his father till he heard that Garshásp was unequal to rule over Persia, and then thinking he could turn the warlike spirit of Afrásiyáb to advantage, he forgave the crime of his son. He forthwith collected an immense army, and sent him again to effect the conquest of Irán, under the pretext of avenging the death of Sílim and Túr.

Afrásiyáb a mighty army raised, And passing plain and river, mountain high, And desert wild, filled all the Persian realm With consternation, universal dread.

The chief authorities of the country applied to Zál as their only remedy against the invasion of Afrásiyáb.

They said to Zál, "How easy is the task For thee to grasp the world—then, since thou canst Afford us succour, yield the blessing now; For, lo! the King Afrásiyáb has come, In all his power and overwhelming might."

Zál replied that he had on this occasion appointed Rustem to command the army, and to oppose the invasion of Afrásiyáb.

And thus the warrior Zál to Rustem spoke— "Strong as an elephant thou art, my son, Surpassing thy companions, and I now Forewarn thee that a difficult emprize, Hostile to ease or sleep, demands thy care. 'Tis true, of battles thou canst nothing know, But what am I to do? This is no time For banquetting, and yet thy lips still breathe The scent of milk, a proof of infancy; Thy heart pants after gladness and the sweet Endearments of domestic life; can I Then send thee to the war to cope with heroes Burning with wrath and vengeance?" Rustem said— "Mistake me not, I have no wish, not I, For soft endearments, nor domestic life, Nor home-felt joys. This chest, these nervous limbs, Denote far other objects of pursuit, Than a luxurious life of ease and pleasure."

Zál having taken great pains in the instruction of Rustem in warlike exercises, and the rules of battle, found infinite aptitude in the boy, and his activity and skill seemed to be superior to his own. He thanked God for the comfort it gave him, and was glad. Then Rustem asked his father for a suitable mace; and seeing the huge weapon which was borne by the great Sám, he took it up, and it answered his purpose exactly.

When the young hero saw the mace of Sám He smiled with pleasure, and his heart rejoiced; And paying homage to his father Zál, The champion of the age, asked for a steed Of corresponding power, that he might use That famous club with added force and vigor.

Zál showed him all the horses in his possession, and Rustem tried many, but found not one of sufficient strength to suit him. At last his eyes fell upon a mare followed by a foal of great promise, beauty, and strength.

Seeing that foal, whose bright and glossy skin Was dappled o'er, like blossoms of the rose Upon a saffron lawn, Rustem prepared His noose, and held it ready in his hand.

The groom recommended him to secure the foal, as it was the offspring of Abresh, born of a Díw, or Demon, and called Rakush. The dam had killed several persons who attempted to seize her young one.

Now Rustem flings the noose, and suddenly Rakush secures. Meanwhile the furious mare Attacks him, eager with her pointed teeth To crush his brain—but, stunned by his loud cry, She stops in wonder. Then with clenched hand He smites her on the head and neck, and down She tumbles, struggling in the pangs of death.

Rakush, however, though with the noose round his neck, was not so easily subdued; but kept dragging and pulling Rustem, as if by a tether, and it was a considerable time before the animal could be reduced to subjection. At last, Rustem thanked Heaven that he had obtained the very horse he wanted.

"Now am I with my horse prepared to join The field of warriors!" Thus the hero said, And placed the saddle on his charger. Zál Beheld him with delight,—his withered heart Glowing with summer freshness. Open then He threw his treasury—thoughtless of the past Or future—present joy absorbing all His faculties, and thrilling every nerve.

In a short time Zál sent Rustem with a prodigious army against Afrásiyáb, and two days afterwards set off himself and joined his son. Afrásiyáb said, "The son is but a boy, and the father is old; I shall have no difficulty in recovering the empire of Persia." These observations having reached Zál, he pondered deeply, considering that Garshásp would not be able to contend against Afrásiyáb, and that no other prince of the race of Feridún was known to be in existence. However, he despatched people in every quarter to gather information on the subject, and at length Kai-kobád was understood to be residing in obscurity on the mountain Alberz, distinguished for his wisdom and valor, and his qualifications for the exercise of sovereign power. Zál therefore recommended Rustem to proceed to Alberz, and bring him from his concealment.

Thus Zál to Rustem spoke, "Go forth, my son, And speedily perform this pressing duty, To linger would be dangerous. Say to him, 'The army is prepared—the throne is ready, And thou alone, of the Kaiánian race, Deemed fit for sovereign rule.'"

Rustem accordingly mounted Rakush, and accompanied by a powerful force, pursued his way towards the mountain Alberz; and though the road was infested by the troops of Afrásiyáb, he valiantly overcame every difficulty that was opposed to his progress. On reaching the vicinity of Alberz, he observed a beautiful spot of ground studded with luxuriant trees, and watered by glittering rills. There too, sitting upon a throne, placed in the shade on the flowery margin of a stream, he saw a young man, surrounded by a company of friends and attendants, and engaged at a gorgeous entertainment. Rustem, when he came near, was hospitably invited to partake of the feast: but this he declined, saying, that he was on an important mission to Alberz, which forbade the enjoyment of any pleasure till his task was accomplished; in short, that he was in search of Kai-kobád: but upon being told that he would there receive intelligence of him, he alighted and approached the bank of the stream where the company was assembled. The young man who was seated upon the golden throne took hold of the hand of Rustem, and filling up a goblet with wine, gave another to his guest, and asked him at whose command or suggestion he was in search of Kai-kobád. Rustem replied, that he was sent by his father Zál, and frankly communicated to him the special object they had in view. The young man, delighted with the information, immediately discovered himself, acknowledged that he was Kai-kobád, and then Rustem respectfully hailed him as the sovereign of Persia.

The banquet was resumed again— And, hark, the softly warbled strain, As harp and flute, in union sweet, The voices of the singers meet. The black-eyed damsels now display Their art in many an amorous lay; And now the song is loud and clear, And speaks of Rustem's welcome here. "This is a day, a glorious day, That drives ungenial thoughts away; This is a day to make us glad, Since Rustem comes for Kai-kobád; O, let us pass our time in glee, And talk of Jemshíd's majesty, The pomp and glory of his reign, And still the sparkling goblet drain.— Come, Sakí, fill the wine-cup high, And let not even its brim be dry; For wine alone has power to part The rust of sorrow from the heart. Drink to the king, in merry mood, Since fortune smiles, and wine is good; Quaffing red wine is better far Than shedding blood in strife, or war; Man is but dust, and why should he Become a fire of enmity? Drink deep, all other cares resign. For what can vie with ruby wine?"

In this manner ran the song of the revellers. After which, and being rather merry with wine, Kai-kobád told Rustem of the dream that had induced him to descend from his place of refuge on Alberz, and to prepare a banquet on the occasion. He dreamt the night before that two white falcons from Persia placed a splendid crown upon his head, and this vision was interpreted by Rustem as symbolical of his father and himself, who at that moment were engaged in investing him with kingly power. The hero then solicited the young sovereign to hasten his departure for Persia, and preparations were made without delay. They travelled night and day, and fell in with several detachments of the enemy, which were easily repulsed by the valor of Rustem. The fiercest attack proceeded from Kelún, one of Afrásiyáb's warriors, near the confines of Persia, who in the encounter used his spear with great dexterity and address.

But Rustem with his javelin soon transfixed The Tartar knight—who in the eyes of all Looked like a spitted chicken—down he sunk, And all his soldiers fled in wild dismay. Then Rustem turned aside, and found a spot Where verdant meadows smiled, and streamlets flowed, Inviting weary travellers to rest. There they awhile remained—and when the sun Went down, and night had darkened all the sky, The champion joyfully pursued his way, And brought the monarch to his father's house. —Seven days they sat in council—on the eighth Young Kai-kobád was crowned—and placed upon The ivory throne in presence of his warriors, Who all besought him to commence the war Against the Tartar prince, Afrásiyáb.

KAI-KOBÁD

Kai-kobád having been raised to the throne at a council of the warriors, and advised to oppose the progress of Afrásiyáb, immediately assembled his army. Mihráb, the ruler of Kábul, was appointed to one wing, and Gustahem to the other—the centre was given to Kárun and Kishwád, and Rustem was placed in front, Zál with Kai-kobád remaining in the rear. The glorious standard of Kavah streamed upon the breeze.

On the other side, Afrásiyáb prepared for battle, assisted by his heroes Akbás, Wísah, Shimasás, and Gersíwaz; and so great was the clamor and confusion which proceeded from both armies, that earth and sky seemed blended together.[8] The clattering of hoofs, the shrill roar of trumpets, the rattle of brazen drums, and the vivid glittering of spear and shield, produced indescribable tumult and splendor.

Kárun was the first in action, and he brought many a hero to the ground. He singled out Shimasás; and after a desperate struggle, laid him breathless on the field. Rustem, stimulated by these exploits, requested his father, Zál, to point out Afrásiyáb, that he might encounter him; but Zál endeavored to dissuade him from so hopeless an effort, saying,

"My son, be wise, and peril not thyself; Black is his banner, and his cuirass black— His limbs are cased in iron—on his head He wears an iron helm—and high before him Floats the black ensign; equal in his might To ten strong men, he never in one place Remains, but everywhere displays his power. The crocodile has in the rolling stream No safety; and a mountain, formed of steel, Even at the mention of Afrásiyáb, Melts into water. Then, beware of him." Rustem replied:—"Be not alarmed for me— My heart, my arm, my dagger, are my castle, And Heaven befriends me—let him but appear, Dragon or Demon, and the field is mine."

Then Rustem valiantly urged Rakush towards the Túránian army, and called out aloud. As soon as Afrásiyáb beheld him, he inquired who he could be, and he was told, "This is Rustem, the son of Zál. Seest thou not in his hand the battle-axe of Sám? The youth has come in search of renown." When the combatants closed, they struggled for some time together, and at length Rustem seized the girdle-belt of his antagonist, and threw him from his saddle. He wished to drag the captive as a trophy to Kai-kobád, that his first great victory might be remembered, but unfortunately the belt gave way, and Afrásiyáb fell on the ground. Immediately the fallen chief was surrounded and rescued by his own warriors, but not before Rustem had snatched off his crown, and carried it away with the broken girdle which was left in his hand. And now a general engagement took place. Rustem being reinforced by the advance of the king, with Zál and Mihráb at his side—

Both armies seemed so closely waging war, Thou wouldst have said, that they were mixed together. The earth shook with the tramping of the steeds, Rattled the drums; loud clamours from the troops Echoed around, and from the iron grasp Of warriors, many a life was spent in air. With his huge mace, cow-headed, Rustem dyed The ground with crimson—and wherever seen, Urging impatiently his fiery horse, Heads severed fell like withered leaves in autumn. If, brandishing his sword, he struck the head, Horseman and steed were downward cleft in twain— And if his side-long blow was on the loins, The sword passed through, as easily as the blade Slices a cucumber. The blood of heroes Deluged the plain. On that tremendous day, With sword and dagger, battle-axe and noose,[9] He cut, and tore, and broke, and bound the brave, Slaying and making captive. At one swoop More than a thousand fell by his own hand.

Zál beheld his son with amazement and delight. The Túránians left the fire-worshippers in possession of the field, and retreated towards the Jihún with precipitation, not a sound of drum or trumpet denoting their track. After halting three days in a state of deep dejection and misery, they continued their retreat along the banks of the Jihún. The Persian army, upon the flight of the enemy, fell back with their prisoners of war, and Rustem was received by the king with distinguished honor. When Afrásiyáb returned to his father, he communicated to him, with a heavy heart, the misfortunes of the battle, and the power that had been arrayed against him, dwelling with wonder and admiration on the stupendous valor of Rustem.

Seeing my sable banner, He to the fight came like a crocodile, Thou wouldst have said his breath scorched up the plain; He seized my girdle with such mighty force As if he would have torn my joints asunder; And raised me from my saddle—that I seemed An insect in his grasp—but presently The golden girdle broke, and down I fell Ingloriously upon the dusty ground; But I was rescued by my warrior train! Thou knowest my valour, how my nerves are strung, And may conceive the wondrous strength, which thus Sunk me to nothing. Iron is his frame, And marvellous his power; peace, peace, alone Can save us and our country from destruction.

Poshang, considering the luckless state of affairs, and the loss of so many valiant warriors, thought it prudent to acquiesce in the wishes of Afrásiyáb, and sue for peace. To this end Wísah was intrusted with magnificent presents, and the overtures which in substance ran thus: "Minúchihr was revenged upon Túr and Sílim for the death of Irij. Afrásiyáb again has revenged their death upon Nauder, the son of Minúchihr, and now Rustem has conquered Afrásiyáb. But why should we any longer keep the world in confusion—Why should we not be satisfied with what Feridún, in his wisdom, decreed? Continue in the empire which he appropriated to Irij, and let the Jihún be the boundary between us, for are we not connected by blood, and of one family? Let our kingdoms be gladdened with the blessings of peace."

When these proposals of peace reached Kai-kobád, the following answer was returned:

"Well dost thou know that I was not the first To wage this war. From Túr, thy ancestor, The strife began. Bethink thee how he slew The gentle Irij—his own brother;—how, In these our days, thy son, Afrásiyáb, Crossing the Jihún, with a numerous force Invaded Persia—think how Nauder died! Not in the field of battle, like a hero, But murdered by thy son—who, ever cruel, Afterwards stabbed his brother, young Aghríras, So deeply mourned by thee. Yet do I thirst not For vengeance, or for strife. I yield the realm Beyond the Jihún—let that river be The boundary between us; but thy son, Afrásiyáb, must take his solemn oath Never to cross that limit, or disturb The Persian throne again; thus pledged, I grant The peace solicited."

The messenger without delay conveyed this welcome intelligence to Poshang, and the Túránian army was in consequence immediately withdrawn within the prescribed line of division, Rustem, however, expostulated with the king against making peace at a time the most advantageous for war, and especially when he had just commenced his victorious career; but Kai-kobád thought differently, and considered nothing equal to justice and tranquillity. Peace was accordingly concluded, and upon Rustem and Zál he conferred the highest honors, and his other warriors engaged in the late conflict also experienced the effects of his bounty and gratitude in an eminent degree.

Kai-kobád then moved towards Persia, and establishing his throne at Istakhar,[10] he administered the affairs of his government with admirable benevolence and clemency, and with unceasing solicitude for the welfare of his subjects. In his eyes every one had an equal claim to consideration and justice. The strong had no power to oppress the weak. After he had continued ten years at Istakhar, building towns and cities, and diffusing improvement and happiness over the land, he removed his throne into Irán. His reign lasted one hundred years, which were passed in the continued exercise of the most princely virtues, and the most munificent liberality. He had four sons: Kai-káús, Arish, Poshín and Aramín; and when the period of his dissolution drew nigh, he solemnly enjoined the eldest, whom he appointed his successor, to pursue steadily the path of integrity and justice, and to be kind and merciful in the administration of the empire left to his charge.

KAI-KÁÚS

When Kai-káús[11] ascended the throne of his father, the whole world was obedient to his will; but he soon began to deviate from the wise customs and rules which had been recommended as essential to his prosperity and happiness. He feasted and drank wine continually with his warriors and chiefs, so that in the midst of his luxurious enjoyments he looked upon himself as superior to every being upon the face of the earth, and thus astonished the people, high and low, by his extravagance and pride.

One day a Demon, disguised as a musician, waited upon the monarch, and playing sweetly on his harp, sung a song in praise of Mázinderán.

And thus he warbled to the king— "Mázinderán is the bower of spring, My native home; the balmy air Diffuses health and fragrance there; So tempered is the genial glow, Nor heat nor cold we ever know; Tulips and hyacinths abound On every lawn; and all around Blooms like a garden in its prime, Fostered by that delicious clime. The bulbul sits on every spray, And pours his soft melodious lay; Each rural spot its sweets discloses, Each streamlet is the dew of roses; And damsels, idols of the heart, Sustain a more bewitching part. And mark me, that untravelled man Who never saw Mázinderán, And all the charms its bowers possess, Has never tasted happiness!"

No sooner had Kai-káús heard this description of the country of Mázinderán than he determined to lead an army thither, declaring to his warriors that the splendor and glory of his reign should exceed that of either Jemshíd, Zohák, or Kai-kobád. The warriors, however, were alarmed at this precipitate resolution, thinking it certain destruction to make war against the Demons; but they had not courage or confidence enough to disclose their real sentiments. They only ventured to suggest, that if his majesty reflected a little on the subject, he might not ultimately consider the enterprise so advisable as he had at first imagined. But this produced no impression, and they then deemed it expedient to despatch a messenger to Zál, to inform him of the wild notions which the Evil One had put into the head of Kai-káús to effect his ruin, imploring Zál to allow of no delay, otherwise the eminent services so lately performed by him and Rustem for the state would be rendered utterly useless and vain. Upon this summons, Zál immediately set off from Sístán to Irán; and having arrived at the royal court, and been received with customary respect and consideration, he endeavored to dissuade the king from the contemplated expedition into Mázinderán.

"O, could I wash the darkness from thy mind, And show thee all the perils that surround This undertaking! Jemshíd, high in power, Whose diadem was brilliant as the sun, Who ruled the demons—never in his pride Dreamt of the conquest of Mázinderán! Remember Feridún, he overthrew Zohák—destroyed the tyrant, but he never Thought of the conquest of Mázinderán! This strange ambition never fired the souls Of by-gone monarchs—mighty Minúchihr, Always victorious, boundless in his wealth, Nor Zau, nor Nauder, nor even Kai-kobád, With all their pomp, and all their grandeur, ever Dreamt of the conquest of Mázinderán! It is the place of demon-sorcerers, And all enchanted. Swords are useless there, Nor bribery nor wisdom can obtain Possession of that charm-defended land, Then throw not men and treasure to the winds; Waste not the precious blood of warriors brave, In trying to subdue Mázinderán!"

Kai-káús, however, was not to be diverted from his purpose; and with respect to what his predecessors had not done, he considered himself superior in might and influence to either Feridún, Jemshíd, Minúchihr, or Kai-kobád, who had never aspired to the conquest of Mázinderán. He further observed, that he had a bolder heart, a larger army, and a fuller treasury than any of them, and the whole world was under his sway—

And what are all these Demon-charms, That they excite such dread alarms? What is a Demon-host to me, Their magic spells and sorcery? One effort, and the field is won; Then why should I the battle shun? Be thou and Rustem (whilst afar I wage the soul-appalling war), The guardians of the kingdom; Heaven To me hath its protection given; And, when I reach the Demon's fort, Their severed heads shall be my sport!

When Zál became convinced of the unalterable resolution of Kai-káús, he ceased to oppose his views, and expressed his readiness to comply with whatever commands he might receive for the safety of the state.

May all thy actions prosper—may'st thou never Have cause to recollect my warning voice, With sorrow or repentance. Heaven protect thee!

Zál then took leave of the king and his warrior friends, and returned to Sístán, not without melancholy forebodings respecting the issue of the war against Mázinderán.

As soon as morning dawned, the army was put in motion. The charge of the empire, and the keys of the treasury and jewel-chamber were left in the hands of Mílad, with injunctions, however, not to draw a sword against any enemy that might spring up, without the consent and assistance of Zál and Rustem. When the army had arrived within the limits of Mázinderán, Kai-káús ordered Gíw to select two thousand of the bravest men, the boldest wielders of the battle-axe, and proceed rapidly towards the city. In his progress, according to the king's instructions, he burnt and destroyed everything of value, mercilessly slaying man, woman, and child. For the king said:

Kill all before thee, whether young or old, And turn their day to night; thus free the world From the magician's art.

Proceeding in his career of desolation and ruin, Gíw came near to the city, and found it arrayed in all the splendor of heaven; every street was crowded with beautiful women, richly adorned, and young damsels with faces as bright as the moon. The treasure-chamber was full of gold and jewels, and the country abounded with cattle. Information of this discovery was immediately sent to Kai-káús, who was delighted to find that Mázinderán was truly a blessed region, the very garden of beauty, where the cheeks of the women seemed to be tinted with the hue of the pomegranate flower, by the gate-keeper of Paradise.

This invasion filled the heart of the king of Mázinderán with grief and alarm, and his first care was to call the gigantic White Demon to his aid. Meanwhile Kai-káús, full of the wildest anticipations of victory, was encamped on the plain near the city in splendid state, and preparing to commence the final overthrow of the enemy on the following day. In the night, however, a cloud came, and deep darkness like pitch overspread the earth, and tremendous hail-stones poured down upon the Persian host, throwing them into the greatest confusion. Thousands were destroyed, others fled, and were scattered abroad in the gloom. The morning dawned, but it brought no light to the eyes of Kai-káús; and amidst the horrors he experienced, his treasury was captured, and the soldiers of his army either killed or made prisoners of war. Then did he bitterly lament that he had not followed the wise counsel of Zál. Seven days he was involved in this dreadful affliction, and on the eighth day he heard the roar of the White Demon, saying:

"O king, thou art the willow-tree, all barren, With neither fruit, nor flower. What could induce The dream of conquering Mázinderán? Hadst thou no friend to warn thee of thy folly? Hadst thou not heard of the White Demon's power— Of him, who from the gorgeous vault of Heaven Can charm the stars? From this mad enterprise Others have wisely shrunk—and what hast thou Accomplished by a more ambitious course? Thy soldiers have slain many, dire destruction And spoil have been their purpose—thy wild will Has promptly been obeyed; but thou art now Without an army, not one man remains To lift a sword, or stand in thy defence; Not one to hear thy groans and thy despair."

There were selected from the army twelve thousand of the demon-warriors, to take charge of and hold in custody the Iránian captives, all the chiefs, as well as the soldiers, being secured with bonds, and only allowed food enough to keep them alive. Arzang, one of the demon-leaders, having got possession of the wealth, the crown and jewels, belonging to Kai-káús, was appointed to escort the captive king and his troops, all of whom were deprived of sight, to the city of Mázinderán, where they were delivered into the hands of the monarch of that country. The White Demon, after thus putting an end to hostilities, returned to his own abode.

Kai-káús, strictly guarded as he was, found an opportunity of sending an account of his blind and helpless condition to Zál, in which he lamented that he had not followed his advice, and urgently requested him, if he was not himself in confinement, to come to his assistance, and release him from captivity. When Zál heard the melancholy story, he gnawed the very skin of his body with vexation, and turning to Rustem, conferred with him in private.

"The sword must be unsheathed, since Kai-káús Is bound a captive in the dragon's den, And Rakush must be saddled for the field, And thou must bear the weight of this emprize; For I have lived two centuries, and old age Unfits me for the heavy toils of war. Should'st thou release the king, thy name will be Exalted o'er the earth.—Then don thy mail, And gain immortal honor."

Rustem replied that it was a long journey to Mázinderán, and that the king had been six months on the road. Upon this Zál observed that there were two roads—the most tedious one was that which Kai-káús had taken; but by the other, which was full of dangers and difficulty, and lions, and demons, and sorcery, he might reach Mázinderán in seven days, if he reached it at all.

On hearing these words Rustem assented, and chose the short road, observing:

"Although it is not wise, they say, With willing feet to track the way To hell; though only men who've lost, All love of life, by misery crossed, Would rush into the tiger's lair, And die, poor reckless victims, there; I gird my loins, whate'er may be, And trust in God for victory."

On the following day, resigning himself to the protection of Heaven, he put on his war attire, and with his favorite horse, Rakush, properly caparisoned, stood prepared for the journey. His mother, Rúdábeh, took leave of him with great sorrow; and the young hero departed from Sístán, consoling himself and his friends, thus:

"O'er him who seeks the battle-field, Nobly his prisoned king to free, Heaven will extend its saving shield, And crown his arms with victory."

THE SEVEN LABORS OF RUSTEM

First Stage.—He rapidly pursued his way, performing two days' journey in one, and soon came to a forest full of wild asses. Oppressed with hunger, he succeeded in securing one of them, which he roasted over a fire, lighted by sparks produced by striking the point of his spear, and kept in a blaze with dried grass and branches of trees. After regaling himself, and satisfying his hunger, he loosened the bridle of Rakush, and allowed him to graze; and choosing a safe place for repose during the night, and taking care to have his sword under his head, he went to sleep among the reeds of that wilderness. In a short space a fierce lion appeared, and attacked Rakush with great violence; but Rakush very speedily with his teeth and heels put an end to his furious assailant. Rustem, awakened by the confusion, and seeing the dead lion before him, said to his favorite companion:—

"Ah! Rakush, why so thoughtless grown, To fight a lion thus alone; For had it been thy fate to bleed, And not thy foe, my gallant steed! How could thy master have conveyed His helm, and battle-axe, and blade, Kamund, and bow, and buberyán, Unaided, to Mázinderán? Why didst thou fail to give the alarm, And save thyself from chance of harm, By neighing loudly in my ear; But though thy bold heart knows no fear, From such unwise exploits refrain, Nor try a lion's strength again."

Saying this, Rustem laid down to sleep, and did not awake till the morning dawned. As the sun rose, he remounted Rakush, and proceeded on his journey towards Mázinderán.

Second Stage.—After travelling rapidly for some time, he entered a desert, in which no water was to be found, and the sand was so burning hot, that it seemed to be instinct with fire. Both horse and rider were oppressed with the most maddening thirst. Rustem alighted, and vainly wandered about in search of relief, till almost exhausted, he put up a prayer to Heaven for protection against the evils which surrounded him, engaged as he was in an enterprise for the release of Kai-káús and the Persian army, then in the power of the demons. With pious earnestness he besought the Almighty to bless him in the great work; and whilst in a despairing mood he was lamenting his deplorable condition, his tongue and throat being parched with thirst, his body prostrate on the sand, under the influence of a raging sun, he saw a sheep pass by, which he hailed as the harbinger of good. Rising up and grasping his sword in his hand, he followed the animal, and came to a fountain of water, where he devoutly returned thanks to God for the blessing which had preserved his existence, and prevented the wolves from feeding on his lifeless limbs. Refreshed by the cool water, he then looked out for something to allay his hunger, and killing a gor, he lighted a fire and roasted it, and regaled upon its savory flesh, which he eagerly tore from the bones.

When the period of rest arrived, Rustem addressed Rakush, and said to him angrily:—

"Beware, my steed, of future strife. Again thou must not risk thy life; Encounter not with lion fell, Nor demon still more terrible; But should an enemy appear, Ring loud the warning in my ear."

After delivering these injunctions, Rustem laid down to sleep, leaving Rakush unbridled, and at liberty to crop the herbage close by.

Third Stage.—At midnight a monstrous dragon-serpent issued from the forest; it was eighty yards in length, and so fierce, that neither elephant, nor demon, nor lion, ever ventured to pass by its lair. It came forth, and seeing the champion asleep, and a horse near him, the latter was the first object of attack. But Rakush retired towards his master, and neighed and beat the ground so furiously, that Rustem soon awoke; looking around on every side, however, he saw nothing—the dragon had vanished, and he went to sleep again. Again the dragon burst out of the thick darkness, and again Rakush was at the pillow of his master, who rose up at the alarm: but anxiously trying to penetrate the dreary gloom, he saw nothing—all was a blank; and annoyed at this apparently vexatious conduct of his horse, he spoke sharply:—

"Why thus again disturb my rest, When sleep had softly soothed my breast? I told thee, if thou chanced to see Another dangerous enemy, To sound the alarm; but not to keep Depriving me of needful sleep; When nothing meets the eye nor ear, Nothing to cause a moment's fear! But if again my rest is broke, On thee shall fall the fatal stroke, And I myself will drag this load Of ponderous arms along the road; Yes, I will go, a lonely man, Without thee, to Mázinderán."

Rustem again went to sleep, and Rakush was resolved this time not to move a step from his side, for his heart was grieved and afflicted by the harsh words that had been addressed to him. The dragon again appeared, and the faithful horse almost tore up the earth with his heels, to rouse his sleeping master. Rustem again awoke, and sprang to his feet, and was again angry; but fortunately at that moment sufficient light was providentially given for him to see the prodigious cause of alarm.

Then swift he drew his sword, and closed in strife With that huge monster.—Dreadful was the shock And perilous to Rustem; but when Rakush Perceived the contest doubtful, furiously, With his keen teeth, he bit and tore away The dragon's scaly hide; whilst quick as thought The Champion severed off the ghastly head, And deluged all the plain with horrid blood. Amazed to see a form so hideous Breathless stretched out before him, he returned Thanks to the Omnipotent for his success, Saying—"Upheld by thy protecting arm, What is a lion's strength, a demon's rage, Or all the horrors of the burning desert, With not one drop to quench devouring thirst? Nothing, since power and might proceed from Thee."

Fourth Stage.—Rustem having resumed the saddle, continued his journey through an enchanted territory, and in the evening came to a beautifully green spot, refreshed by flowing rivulets, where he found, to his surprise, a ready-roasted deer, and some bread and salt. He alighted, and sat down near the enchanted provisions, which vanished at the sound of his voice, and presently a tambourine met his eyes, and a flask of wine. Taking up the instrument he played upon it, and chanted a ditty about his own wanderings, and the exploits which he most loved. He said that he had no pleasure in banquets, but only in the field fighting with heroes and crocodiles in war. The song happened to reach the ears of a sorceress, who, arrayed in all the charms of beauty, suddenly approached him, and sat down by his side. The champion put up a prayer of gratitude for having been supplied with food and wine, and music, in the desert of Mázinderán, and not knowing that the enchantress was a demon in disguise, he placed in her hands a cup of wine in the name of God; but at the mention of the Creator, the enchanted form was converted into a black fiend. Seeing this, Rustem threw his kamund, and secured the demon; and, drawing his sword, at once cut the body in two!

Fifth Stage.—

From thence proceeding onward, he approached A region destitute of light, a void Of utter darkness. Neither moon nor star Peep'd through the gloom; no choice of path remained, And therefore, throwing loose the rein, he gave Rakush the power to travel on, unguided. At length the darkness was dispersed, the earth Became a scene, joyous and light, and gay, Covered with waving corn—there Rustem paused And quitting his good steed among the grass, Laid himself gently down, and, wearied, slept; His shield beneath his head, his sword before him.

When the keeper of the forest saw the stranger and his horse, he went to Rustem, then asleep, and struck his staff violently on the ground, and having thus awakened the hero, he asked him, devil that he was, why he had allowed his horse to feed upon the green corn-field. Angry at these words, Rustem, without uttering a syllable, seized hold of the keeper by the ears, and wrung them off. The mutilated wretch, gathering up his severed ears, hurried away, covered with blood, to his master, Aúlád, and told him of the injury he had sustained from a man like a black demon, with a tiger-skin cuirass and an iron helmet; showing at the same time the bleeding witnesses of his sufferings. Upon being informed of this outrageous proceeding, Aúlád, burning with wrath, summoned together his fighting men, and hastened by the directions of the keeper to the place where Rustem had been found asleep. The champion received the angry lord of the land, fully prepared, on horseback, and heard him demand his name, that he might not slay a worthless antagonist, and why he had torn off the ears of his forest-keeper! Rustem replied that the very sound of his name would make him shudder with horror. Aúlád then ordered his troops to attack Rustem, and they rushed upon him with great fury; but their leader was presently killed by the master-hand, and great numbers were also scattered lifeless over the plain. The survivors running away, Rustem's next object was to follow and secure, by his kamund, the person of Aúlád, and with admirable address and ingenuity, he succeeded in dismounting him and taking him alive. He then bound his hands, and said to him:—